Action IS Thinking and Vice Versa

After a very long time on the road – that emotion kicks in: I am full of humanity. Too many people, too many planes, too many places, too many impressions. I walk the street of my home town, dressed in my nicest suit, strolling along with no particular destination in mind. But things are not the same – my mood is grumpy my mind is not in the Now.

How do I know that I do not project my usual image to the world? My body language is nervous – I check my phone a bit too often. As I walk down the street, the women I pass do not give me their usual, flirtatious looks. When I talk to a friend at a cafe, she breaks eye contact more often than is normal. My voice is not as deep, my speech is just a little too fast. I interrupt others when I talk with them – impatiently waiting for my turn to speak…. I am in other words an annoying and annoyed human being.

I isolate  myself. I even put on a movie – alone, a very unusual behavior for me. At this point, most people I know would start rationalizing their grumpy mood. I am no different. But then again, maybe I am – I observe myself doing it now. My history writer, aka: Consciousness, is already busy trying to create a consistent image of what is happening. The only matching story is that my new personality is just a mask – and for some hours I get hauled into the old and bitter ways. The “this is your true self” rings in my ears - “resistance is futile – stop being that new you”. Like a bad friend, History Writer demands much but gives nothing. Creates an illusion of pain to remain in control – taking advantage of my weakness. I force myself to walk, to do the things I like to do. But I feel no pleasure doing them – History Writer wins a battle – Now is lost. For a moment, I feel anger, rage that I am not here. But the war is not over.

I force myself to just do things, even though there is no pleasure in them. I sit at my local cafe with a glass of wine, I small talk with the pretty waitress (while feeling annoyed instead of happy), I chat all night (even when sleep tries to steal me away).

All that time, History Writer blabbers on with it’s incessant chatter – I ignore it. And  slowly, History Writer lets go – and there is silence in the head again. The depressive state cannot be maintained. The actions I perform, create no empirical support for the silly story History Writer tries to create. Action is thinking.

I wake up this morning after a deep sleep. I go to find breakfast. The sun shines just like yesterday, but it feels different, somehow warmer. I am in an old pair of jeans and a shirt – but my eyes are beaming again. I go for breakfast and my morning coffee – the Italian girls in the coffee house send their flirting smiles at me – the barista greets me a with a cheer. Nothing on the outside is different than yesterday, it is in many ways worse. But the world acts different, better – thinking is action.